Password
by FireLily0213
Summary: John Watson tries to handle Sherlock's apparent demise/suicide when his eyes land on Sherlock's dusty old personal laptop. Set post-TRB or S2E3 and pre-TEH or S3E1 (One-Shot)


_**'Ello.**_

_**So this is…. I dunno. I wrote it about eight months ago during the Hiatus and I was depressed and I decided I wanted to share with the class. Minor Feels warning and happy ending. No initial Johnlock implied but hey; Destiel's not canon but that doesn't mean I don't pretend it's not. **_

_**Wait did that make sense? I don't think it made sense. It didn't make sense.**_

_**Anyway, I hope you like it; I think I read something really short like this and thought, well that was a wasted opportunity and rewrote they person's fanfic in my own words but i don't remember what I had for dinner last night so can't expect me to remember what I was thinking 8 months ago.**_

_**Enjoy :)**_

Password

221B Baker Street. He knew he should leave the loft, for his own sanity, but he couldn't bear to part with it.

Dr. John Watson sat on the left armchair, staring at the empty black one across of him. He couldn't take it away, and he couldn't sit on it either. It had stayed, and will stay, as _his _chair. It had been four months after he saw Sherlock fall from St. Bartholomew's and slowly, John began to get angry with him. How dare he leave him alone? How dare he jump?

Sherlock was his best friend, and he forced him to watch him commit suicide.

Still, that pain, shock, and grief was always strongest.

John let his gaze wander around the flat, seeing echoes of Sherlock Holmes everywhere. Finally, his eyes rested on Sherlock's laptop. He had always wondered what Sherlock did with it. It was usually with cases. John recalled Sherlock using the blog to finish a case, the case that nearly ended with John being blown to bits by Moriarty. John felt a flash of blinding fury at the thought of-of that insane man.

Then again, who said Sherlock wasn't any different?

Cautiously, John walked across and held the laptop, weighing it in his hands. He sat down at the messy desk. It was honestly still messy because Mrs. Hudson was wary of what could be buried under all of Holmes' work.

John wiped the top of the laptop, as it had a think layer of dust after being unhandled for so long. He found himself cracking it open, waiting expectantly for it to blink and flicker back to life.

John cursed silently.

Of course the laptop would be password-protected. A man that goes into such a dangerous line of work as Sherlock Holmes would at least go underhand the lowest points of security and put a simple word password on a laptop with data. It what Irene Adler had done, with that camera phone, that camera phone the controlled Sherlock's life, taunting him as he tried to crack the password as the laptop was doing to John.

It had only taken Sherlock three seconds to guess John's own laptop password. It hadn't been much of a guess, really. Sherlock never actually "guessed". That was the genius of his mind, taking facts and using logic to find answers, observing the world around , the world had turned their backs on him after he jumped to his death, deeming him a fake. But John always held that grudgingly approval against him, even though he knew Sherlock would hate him for thinking he was a "hero". After everything he had seen him do, everything he had done with him, there was no way he could possibly be a fake.

It was impossible.

John stared at the screen, willing the answer to pop up at him. It was painful to admit, but he never knew anything about Sherlock or his past, nothing much anyway. He thought, could it be a name? Hudson? She was a big part of Sherlock's life. Hesitantly, he typed the name in. The monitor refused to let John through. He swore and went back to thinking. Irene? It was no small fact that Sherlock really had fallen in love with her, as much as he despised it. Feelings were mutual, he would have said, they are too human and will be the death of you.

John tried, and failed yet again.

He breathed through his mouth heavily, and put his head into his hands. What could it possibly be?

Suddenly, a guess popped into his head.

Dubiously, he typed it in.

When it still wouldn't go through, John sighed and scolded himself. An absurd idea, why would Sherlock put that-

The laptop blinked and the icons for different applications appeared.

At first, John stared at the screen with disbelief.

Then, for the first time in months, he smiled.

The password had been John.

**_I hope you liked that little feel one-shot that I decided to publish after a very long time. R&R because they make me very happy!_**

**_But seriously, review, please, I beg you._**

_-Firelily_


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